STAY
by Ravenesque2
Summary: Sometimes, the things you find in the woods can change your whole life. Season Two fic-no Sophia. Written for Valentine Fic-A-Thon on Tumblr. Caryl.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Stay ** by Peta2

**Summary: **Sometimes, the things you find in the woods can change your whole life.

**Prompts: **Nice: Hands and naughty: Outdoor sex

**Rating: **NC-17

**Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead. **

Part One

He returned to camp with his hands drenched in blood. Carol had spied him across the field as he'd marched from the cloak of trees on the edge of the property, striding even faster than usual across the tall, swaying grass, and she watched as each step brought him closer, almost mesmerised by the rhythm of his boots hitting the earth and the drops of blood that left a path behind him, like Hansel and Gretel dropping crumbs. Randomly she thought, walkers might follow that, then shut the thought down before she succeeded in scaring herself and opening her mouth to panic the whole group.

She was one of the first to make it to him, her touch mixed in with the blood before she even knew what was happening, and his eyes clashed with hers so abruptly that they immediately skittered away and he stared at the dirt floor of their camp, flickering up now and again as each new group member crowded him and demanded to know what had happened.

"Hell, man. You still got hands underneath all that red stuff?" Shane shook his head as the others went silent, walking away without a concern in the world while Carol experienced Daryl's unexpected response. He was astoundingly quiet as his hands flexed in hers, somehow tightening around her smaller ones as he breathed out his fury at the nastiness of the comment.

"Jackass," he breathed out angrily. They all heard it, and they all watched him carefully, stunned that he didn't throw himself at Shane and attempt to beat him to a pulp, potential chokeholds be damned.

Carol saw how pale he was, though, noticed when his stiffened posture loosened a little and he swayed to the side. If he hadn't been holding her hands so hard she thought he might well have toppled over.

"We should probably ask Hershel to take a look at your hands," Carol said, then sighed as he seemed to become as aware as everyone else that hers had been captured and almost squeezed to death within his. He threw them away fiercely, the expression on his face one of complete dismay and fury at himself, and without anyone's help, he pivoted to face the farmhouse and made his way in that direction through sheer force of will. Every few steps he seemed to pause, take a breath then move on, and Carol was once again caught by the quickly spilling drops of blood that were leaving a trail of fresh, warm life, from the trees now across the farm. It worried her, and as she frowned in concern, Lori caught her eye and jerked her head toward Daryl.

"You should follow him up. He looks like he's about to pass out. No surprise with how battered that man keeps getting himself. Seems to draw trouble like a moth to a flame," she said with a short laugh and a shake of her long locks.

Rick chuckled and threw an arm across Lori's shoulder. "You best run, Carol," he suggested, a grin almost splitting his face. "Learned enough the last time that Daryl don't have a whole lot of patience with Hershel's points of view."

Before she could take a step in pursuit, however, Daryl had turned back to them and shouted to them from half way across the yard, "Hey, someone best be gettin' that hog I left up at the trees before some other rank dead bastard stumbles along it. Didn' get my hands ripped to shit for nothin'." He stomped off with a new burst of energy, though with a few interesting uncomfortable-looking accents.

Carol looked down at her own hands, now covered in Daryl's blood, and she felt a little odd. She felt a little…warm.

"Guess now we know how he got injured this time," T-Dog said as he ambled up to them, putting on a heavy-duty pair of gloves. "Lucky Andrea wasn't out with her gun this time, too," he chuckled before jogging off across the field.

"You go on," Lori persisted, nudging Carol with her elbow. "Patricia wasn't feelin' so great earlier and was havin' a nap. Hershel might need some help with stitches."

"Of course." Carol shuddered. She could do stitches, she'd done lots of stitches in her time. Okay, well, not that many but she'd definitely done them before and she doubted Hershel needed any help except for maybe trying to keep Daryl calm while he wielded the needle, and what chance _she _had of achieving that miracle she just had no idea.

It was cooler in the house than outside, a throwback summer's day before Fall got serious and the cool nips of the wind picked up. Goosebumps prickled on Carol's arms as she moved into the house, following the sound of Daryl's curses to the room down the hall that seemed to almost be their permanent hospital with how regularly group members ended up in there needing to be patched up.

"Carol," Hershel greeted, resignation and slight impatience making him frown. "Can you take Daryl to the bathroom and see if you can get most of this blood off? I can't see a thing as it is."

Startled, Carol watched Daryl with wide eyes as he slowly stood from his spot on the bed and then led her out into the hall and the bathroom. His progress was awkward, and from somewhat understanding how his body usually moved, Carol could tell that Daryl was suffering pain from places other than his hands. She didn't bother asking, knowing that his grouchy response would be more than her poor constitution could handle while she was already attempting to clean his hands enough for Hershel to see the actual wounds.

He waited for her to push the bathroom door open and she smiled, encouraged by the manners that kept him from spreading the blood pooling in his hands all over the Greene's house. It was…unexpected, and Carol liked that he surpassed that. That he surprised her. That her assumptions were proven foolish.

"Might wanna hurry up before I start bleedin' all over the carpet," he grumbled and Carol realised with a blush that she'd been staring at him and smiling like a fawning teenager.

"Oh! Sure, hold on." She pushed the door open, took in the faintly mouldy scent of the room before guiding Daryl's hands to the sink. It seemed like a real treat to be able to turn on a faucet and experience running water like it was one of the last great miracles. She held his hands under the flow, gently swiping at the red rivulets forming to see the gaping wounds beneath. The gasp was undisciplined, and her chest felt tight, wondering if it was worth him putting his body so at risk every time he went out there for them, hunting food. His hands shook in hers, her fingers gently stroking across the non-lacerated sections of his flesh and she wondered how much of his reaction might be to her as opposed to his obvious trauma.

He didn't say anything to her, didn't draw away and that was probably proof to Carol that his inability to move had as little to do with her as anything ever had. When she glanced at him in the mirror above the vanity, he was staring straight at her, a frown indenting his forehead and his lips drawn tight. She watched a little long, cataloguing the flex of his jaw before his eyes darted away from hers, peering back down at the clear flow of water that revealed the halt of his blood flow. Carol turned off the faucet, then dug in a cupboard for a fresh towel, but before she could wrap it around Daryl's hands, he jerked them away.

He shrugged in some kind of explanation, his shoulders stiff as he stood away from her, cupping his hands in front of him and dripping onto the floor.

"Ain't wantin' to get their dainty shit all dirty," he confided, his face cracking in the tiniest smile Carol thought she'd ever seen, mystified at how it tried to tuck in and hide in the corner of his mouth. Before he could move, she surged forward and wrapped the towel around his hands, bestowing a soft, shy smile upon him as she wrapped her own hands around his in the towel.

"I'll wash it, Daryl. It's fine."

Hershel had his equipment prepared when they returned, and when Daryl finally lowered a body that was obviously in agonising pain to the bed, Carol gently unwrapped his hands, turning them over palm side up so they could see the deep gouges his hunt had left behind. He still wasn't rejecting her touch and Carol felt a little giddy, losing herself in the warmth and roughness of his skin, clasping hold of one finger before letting go as softly as a caress.

"You sure do know how to bang yourself up." Hershel pursed his lips in astonishment, lifting Daryl's hands to get a better look. "I'll have to flush this out with alcohol. What on earth did you do to yourself?"

"Bitch hog took me by surprise." He didn't elaborate despite Hershel's raised brow, but then the kindly vet seemed to notice how Daryl was curled up and favouring his belly and then a bruise blossoming along his collarbone that was peeking mysteriously out from the opening of his shirt made itself known.

"How much more damage are we talking about?" Hershel got some alcohol and prepared to flush out the wounds, his actions weary and resigned.

Daryl shrugged, his back stiffening and Carol couldn't help but take pity on him. All he did was try his best, and all that kept happening was that he got hurt. It was almost like the world held some kind of grudge against the both of them and just never seemed satisfied with the pound of flesh it kept stealing away.

"Heavy bitch damn near gored me to death. Ain't that enough?" His surly tone did nothing to alleviate the sharpened look of irritation that was starting to take over Hershel's patience and Carol rested a hand almost instinctively on Daryl's shoulder. He startled at the unexpected pressure of her touch, but then seemed to force himself to relax as he concentrated on glaring at Hershel. He tilted his head at the older man and Carol felt a shudder ripple through his body and it electrified her without warning.

"Held it off with my hands while it jumped up an' down on my guts an' my balls. After that I lost track of what fuckin' hurt."

Carol jerked her hand off his shoulder in shock, red-faced yet intrigued and then smiled as Hershel chuckled over the bandage he was wrapping around Daryl's hands.

"You need me to check that they're all right still, son?"

Daryl slumped forward, his head hanging low between his outstretched arms and Carol could see the burn spreading up the back of his neck to capture the tips of his ears.

"Ain't no need," he said, his voice quiet yet confident. "Done checked 'em already when I slit that fucker's throat."

Carol's gaze was compelled to check out his groin, gulping hard at the evidence of blood splattered at the front of his pants. She was pretty sure she shouldn't have been here for this conversation, yet the visuals she was getting made her infinitely glad that she was. While his parts being the victim of a brutal attack wasn't something she could be pleased about—despite such a scenario being something she'd have cheered for if Ed had ever been so unlucky—at least she was on hand to recognise he'd need to wash the blood off other areas of his body.

"I'm surprised you managed to get away from it long enough to use your knife without getting gored anywhere else. That's pretty lucky."

Daryl's awkward shrug conveyed that to him, it was just something that had to be done and probably combined with a bit of dumb luck anyhow, like most everything else in his life.

"Lucky woulda been gettin' out of it without my damn balls bein' crushed."

"Hershel? You got any plastic bags Daryl can put over his hands so he can take a shower? He's going to need to wash that blood off."

Both men turned to look at her like she was equal parts crazy for suggesting Daryl take a shower and for interrupting a conversation about men's private parts, while she thought they were pretty crazy for letting her stay for the discussion in the first place. She was really kind of surprised Hershel hadn't tried to head the discussion off somehow, but then he was quickly getting used to the topics of conversation that seemed to burst untamed out of Daryl's mouth, and so she was kind of impressed that he let them flow out without further recrimination. They'd all come such a long way in such a short time.

"The hell I need I shower for?" Daryl stared at her like she was the most stupid woman he'd ever not had time for but Carol knew the score now. She was never going to believe his gruff, confrontational attitude ever again—not when it was aimed at her, anyways.

"Do I really have to state the obvious?" She watched him, amused, as he looked at his hands, then at her, obviously not quite being able to follow her natural thought processes when he was still suffering from his ordeal. "Okay, so maybe I do." The delight on her face seemed to distract him enough that when she pointedly looked at his groin his face turned red so fast she thought it might actually ignite.

"The hell you lookin' at my crotch for? Jesus fuckin' Christ."

His horrified reaction was so comical that she couldn't hold back the burst of laughter. "Daryl, you've just spent the last five minutes talking about the damage a wild hog did to your private parts and now you're embarrassed because I'm pointing out that while you checked them to make sure they were intact and still functional, you might have transferred a whole heap of blood from your hands to your…other parts?"

There wasn't even a hint of a blush on her face but Daryl's burnt so hot she could feel the temperature rising in the room.

"Carol has a point." Hershel finished up with the bandaging and stepped back, contemplating them carefully. "Pretty soon any blood you might have spread to the rest of your body is going to itch. Your hands are out of action for the time being, though, son. You might need some help."

Daryl was on his feet instantly, aggression replacing his earlier exhaustion. "The hell you mean? I ain't needin' anyone's help to wash my own damn balls." He turned and glared at her, then he stomped off, his other injuries forgotten.

Carol stared after him dolefully, feeling more than a little guilty. "Oops. Probably should have tried to check out his other injuries before I mentioned the shower part."

Hershel placed a big, fatherly hand on her shoulder and ducked to look into her eyes, a glint of glee recognisable in his own. "That boy does seem rather attached to his dirt." He shook his head and laughed as he left the room, leaving Carol to clean up the mess that was left. She didn't mind it one bit.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

Carol stopped counting the days since Sophia was found in the barn. It didn't do anything but draw out the pain, make her do stupid things like stare into space and blink back tears when she needed to be concentrating on the here and now, on the things she needed to learn to stay alive in this world. The things she needed to do to prove her worth. The things that would make her strong.

The night had drawn around them a little colder than they'd been used to, and so they'd sat around the fire, some of Daryl's hog spitting and bursting now and again until the meat smelled so good that mouths watered and belly's growled, though as usual lately, Daryl wasn't around to hear any of it. He was still camping further up the property, far enough away from them all that they could easily forget he was a part of them, and sometimes Carol thought maybe they had, though she never did.

She figured he'd be having a hell of a time with his hands all bandaged and she blushed at the things he might need help with. She caught herself feeling guilty about thinking on such things a couple of times, and then forced herself to banish it from her mind. She had no reason to feel guilt when thinking about a man. Daryl wasn't married—she wasn't committing a sin by thinking lusty thoughts about a married man like Rick. And she herself was married no longer—this new world had seen to that. It was a new sensation, having that freedom to look at other human beings without fear of being judged for it—being punished—but it was still a new and frightening prospect to think of herself as a woman attracted to a man, and she was sure the others would be quick to question the kind of man who'd managed to catch her eye.

Once they'd all eaten, Carol gathered together a plate of food for Daryl and started the short trek to his tent. It seemed a longer journey in the dark, somehow. Each step taken carefully so as not to trip or fall on uneven ground, and halfway there she realised that the darkness brought an eerie quiet that seemed to echo down deep in her bones, making her shiver with apprehension. It wasn't safe for him to be out here alone, she knew that, and it worried her that it was more important for him to draw that line of distinction between him and them when it could mean a walker sneaking up on him in his tent. Like what happened to Ed.

She didn't want what happened to Ed to happen to Daryl. Just the thought of it made something inside of her collapse and crumble. Wither awfully with a grief that she just didn't think she was able to withstand. Losing any of them would hurt—it always did—but losing Daryl seemed to amount to a shock that her body wouldn't be able to process. She'd lost her daughter, and she wasn't losing him, no matter how hard he fought to get away from them.

"Took ya long enough."

She didn't even jump anymore, not when _his _voice caught her out of nowhere. It was almost like she expected it to reach out to her, in all its tones and timbres. Whether he was shouting at her in displaced rage, or calling her names, comforting her with beautiful stories as he brought her flowers, or the gentle, naïve tones behind an apology, she was familiar with them all by now and contrary to what he might hope, every single one made her smile.

"Why, Daryl, I thought all that hog wrasslin' made your hands useless, not your legs. You could have come on over at any time." She was grinning as she made a place for herself beside him crouching down next to the fire, staring at it with such an inspired expression of dislike that Carol arched a brow inquisitively. He refused to answer, but she quickly saw what was needed, and, using a long stick to poke the dying embers of the fire around the fresh piece of wood he'd recently managed to nudge on top, she saved them from the cold and he was forced to sit back beside her and huff in irritation.

"Hershel's got my hands wrapped up so tight I can't even pick up a damn fork." The revelation was startling, but it excited Carol as well. She figured if she was going to be shouted at she may as well get the process started, but in the back of her head, she hoped so hard that he'd allow her to help him that it hurt.

"I forgot to bring a fork." She hadn't. She'd intentionally left the utensils behind, foolishly hoping she'd get to watch him lick his fingers or that he'd lick hers if she managed to convince him to let her help.

He held up his puffy paws and threw her one of those awkward little smiles out of the corner of his mouth before studying the dirt like it had all the answers in the world. She'd cut the meat into strips and without even asking, she held a piece of the still warm meat out to him, just to see what he would do. She felt the jolt from her fingers catapult through every single nerve in her body until it settled down low in the pit of her stomach, starting a crazy burn that just sat there, vibrating. His lips, cool and wet, captured the meat and she sat completely mesmerised as he started to chew. She didn't even notice when he stopped, not even when he licked his lips and darted a look down at the plate. He waited to see if she was going to offer him more, staring straight back at her and Carol was lost behind the erratic thumping of her crazy heartbeat.

"You got anymore?" The huskiness of his voice joined the expanding warmth as she jerked back into the moment, quickly plucking up a piece of Hershel's garden tomato, the juice from it coating her fingers. He captured the whole piece in his mouth, his tongue darting out quickly to lick her finger before he seemed to gather himself together, realising what he was doing. The rest of his meal passed with him being much more careful to not quite touch her and Carol was disappointed, but it didn't crush her enough to make her forget what she'd already felt at his touch. She hung onto it, knowing she wasn't done yet, and as he sat back to enjoy a full belly and the warmth of the fire, she brought out the peaches.

"How about desert?" she offered, holding out a ripe, juicy peach. She knew they were juicy, the rest of the group having laughed through their own selection of the fruit before everyone decided they'd had enough.

"Hell, yeah." He swooped in and took a bite before she'd even moved the ripe fruit closer to his mouth, and then he was so close to her, juice running down from his mouth to his chin, the sight so tantalising she was drifting closer to lick up those stray lines of juice before she was even aware of what she was doing. The firelight splashed on his face, his backward fright finally registering with her enough that she stopped her forward movement and used her finger to capture the escaped juice instead. Before he could steal the juice from her digits, though, she stuck her fingers into her own mouth and sucked them clean. She thought little of it, except that the urge to taste something that had fallen from his mouth was too strong to ignore. His eyes went wide, almost panicked, and Carol figured she'd better step back a bit before she had him running from his own campsite.

"So…" Starting conversations with Daryl wasn't something that someone ever really tried to do. He either came in on one already started or he said what he had to say and left. Carol was persistent, and devious much of the time when she really wanted something, but this time she'd shocked herself with how forward she was acting and she was a little unsure what to do now that her purpose in feeding him was pretty much dealt with.

"They happen to get my crossbow when they picked up dinner?"

He spoke to her in a gruff manner, but Carol ignored it and rolled her eyes. "No, Daryl. They left it there. Of _course _they brought it back. It's safe in Dale's RV. You want me to go back now and get it?"

He looked unsure and she could understand that. She'd never seen Daryl without his weapon strapped across his back, or swinging toward a threat. Finally he shook his head, though it was slow and hesitant and she went to stand up and head back anyway. If he was that miserable without it, she'd go and bring it back to him. It could be her second or third good deed for the day. She wasn't counting.

He launched to his feet after her and stood in her way. "It's fine," shot out of his mouth so fast she nearly tricked herself into thinking he wanted her to stay in as desperate a way as she wanted to sit back down and forget there was another campsite just across the way with her figurative name on it. "Don't matter none right now. Can't use the damn thing anyway."

"Okay." Carol dropped back to the ground, not taking the chance that he was just telling her not to come back with the crossbow, rather than staying at all. "I was going to go into the woods a bit to pick berries tomorrow. Hershel told me where to go to find some. You want to come with me? You can be the look out while I do all the hand stuff, like picking. I might even let you taste a few."

The fire sparked in his eyes as he watched her, finally dropping back down beside her when he realised she'd just stare up at him instead of getting back up to go.

"Yeah, guess I can do that. Maybe should bring T, too. Can't really do much if we come across walkers." She could read the defeat in the slump of his body, the way he seemed to fold into himself at the implication he would be useless if a situation arose where he'd need to be a warrior. Carol shuffled a little closer, taking a chance and allowed her arm to rest against his. Her sweater prevented her from feeling his actual flesh, but the suggestion was enough to reignite the interest her body had banked earlier.

"I don't think we need to bring T," Carol said, refusing to let him sabotage the time she had alone with him just because he was feeling a bit down in the dumps. "Besides, you have a knife. If there's a walker, maybe it will be my turn to save you."

The statement was so funny she almost laughed, but Daryl just searched her with such a serious expression in his blue eyes that Carol suddenly felt a surge of confidence, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that if the need arose, she'd kill without a second thought to protect him. At last he jerked his head in a single nod, turned back to the fire, and shuffled a tiny bit closer.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Wow, we all love season 2, don't we? I miss it like crazy! I am now up to the part of this pre-written story where I rushed to finish it. I've been surprisingly satisfied with re-reading up to this point and don't know exactly what I think of the final chapter, but if there is any extending of this story going to happen, it will be from here. Anyway, a little bit surprising and a little bit smutty…I hope you enjoy this chapter! And for those reading Hollow Ground, I should have a new chapter of that up either today or tomorrow.

Part Three

Daryl walked quieter than Carol thought was possible when there were dried leaves and tiny sticks forever under your feet. She plodded along behind him, not even trying to be stealthy, knowing by instinct she'd fail. Daryl had seemed pretty glum when she'd cornered him late that morning. The sun was high in the sky and he was staring at his hands like they were venomous snakes, ready to strike at him and sink their fangs in deep. Carol had left him the previous night bleary eyed but content, though he'd walked her most of the way back to the group. She wished so hard it ached that he'd come back, re-pitch his tent where she could easily keep an eye on him and where he could make a real effort to gel with the group.

The woods smelled nice, fresh, and Carol delighted in this short opportunity of freedom before having to go back and try to not be under someone's feet. Living with a large group of people seemed exciting for a while, but soon the smell, the sounds, the lack of privacy ripped the magic away and these people she hadn't known at all two months ago were now more familiar than her own family had been. She knew some things about all of them now that she wished she didn't—like the sound Dale made when his head tipped back and his hat fell off his head—so loud she was frightened he was going to choke but before that happened, he'd draw every walker in the vicinity straight to the farm. She knew that Andrea had a high sex drive, having walked in on the blonde while she searched for alternatives to her lost vibrator. She knew that T-Dog farted loudly in his sleep, that Lori and Rick had resumed their sex life and she didn't even want to think of some of the things she'd learned about Shane. She felt more than a little uncomfortable with how much guns affected his personal moods, and how often he'd disappear after cleaning them and then returning to the group from a trek to the woods or his tent looking both wrung out and content at the same time. She learned that Glenn's sweat was not particularly sweet smelling, and as she rattled off all of this new knowledge, she almost nose-dived into a panic attack about what horrible things the others might have realised about her.

She bumped into Daryl's back as those thoughts rolled around in her head, and he swivelled round to catch her, making a clumsy effort to tell her to be quiet with his white mittened hand and his adorable 'ssshhh'. Carol almost giggled, but then she heard it too and she nodded to him in understanding. Worried about the guttural cries that seemed to be mangled by the trees, they crept closer, Carol drawing up by Daryl's side, her hand immediately going to the knife on his hip with a question in her eyes.

They came upon the cause of the noises quite suddenly, and in some form of shock, Daryl grabbed a frozen Carol and forced her to the ground, his breath deep and rushed as it pushed his chest into her back. She fought him off silently, scrabbling across the dirt to get a better view and completely ignoring the fire that erupted on her face at her show of eagerness. Daryl was behind her, his arm around her waist as he attempted to pull her back, but Carol was mesmerised and wasn't moving for anyone. She soaked up the view and let it take control of her senses, her hand settling across Daryl's arm and holding it tight to her waist. There was enough coverage for her to sit back a little, and having Daryl flush against her back and her ass did nothing to quench the rapidly roaring inferno that put every single sensor in her body on high alert.

Maggie—the farmer's daughter—was completely naked. The sentence ran through Carol's head until it was almost screaming at her. She was so ashamed, but so titillated as Glenn ran his mouth over her breasts, as his fingers plucked at the rosy nipples jutting out for the world—or at least Carol and Daryl—to see. As they witnessed the girl moan and groan, Carol became increasingly aware of a building confidence in Daryl and he dragged her back—she was convinced unconsciously—until her ass seemed to cushion the growing erection springing to life behind her. She was frustrated his hands were bound and useless, because as Maggie stretched and writhed against a tree at Glenn's clumsy touches, her throaty moans coaxing the young man to unzip his pants and slam his hardness into the visibly glistening parting between her thighs, Carol completely let go and settled against Daryl hard, feeling everything—including his rigid posture as he sat frozen against her.

Glenn pounded into her—Maggie seemed to enjoy it well enough, though Carol wondered at how much the bark was tearing up her back. He didn't last too long, but long enough for Maggie to make some guttural lament that prickled all of Carol's senses and made every sensitive part of her yearn for _something_. Maggie laughed joyously and Carol became aware of Daryl's shallow breaths puffing away beside her ear, the heat of his breath shooting down her neck and nudging her arousal into a raging fever. She sucked in her belly and his arm seemed to slip, but then he braced himself again, and slowly that arm climbed until he circled her ribs just under her breasts.

The younger couple took their time re-dressing, indulging in languorous kisses as they laughed and made plans for further raunchy meetings and Carol allowed her eyes to drop closed, covering her mouth with her own hand when Daryl's other hand came around her and he pressed the evidence of his own interest into her, Carol's legs parting a little more to let him slip closer to where she desperately needed him to be. His embrace was tighter than any she'd ever felt before and without warning, he jerked against her and Carol sighed, biting her lip.

She was scared at how visceral her reaction to what she'd seen was, scared at how much she wanted to throw caution to the wind and grind on Daryl's dick like there was no tomorrow, but…would she be faced with a skittish animal when she was done? A man so cautious normally wouldn't react well to such a change in circumstances without a slow journey towards it. He guarded his intimacy like he guarded his brother's bike, and Carol didn't want to be the one blown off because she'd pushed him too fast, but then this burning ache itching at her core obliterated her reason.

She barely even noticed when Maggie and Glenn ran through the woods, away from their little hiding spot. Nothing mattered but the fire in her blood, stoked to a pounding roar when she felt the slick, wet glide of Daryl's tongue up her throat. He nipped at her jaw, his teeth scraping at the skin there driving her crazy.

"Daryl?" His name came out in a protracted, broken moan and she almost sobbed when he kissed his way back down her throat, leaving one final kiss at the base.

"Not now."

Not now? God, he had no idea how far gone she was, and she was afraid there was no coming back. The place she found herself left her heady with excitement, clouded with images and expectations and a terror that Daryl would refuse to deliver. She felt the heat of his arms as they flexed against hers, she felt the rise and fall of his chest as his own arousal beat a similar drum beat to her own, she felt his sharp, panting breaths fluffing the back of her hair as he tried to pull himself back together, trying to push her away, tiny increments at a time.

"Why not now?" She was being whiny, but rejection and the cancellation of this interlude made her overwrought, ripped away from her a sense of something else she'd be expected to forget, to move on from like it had never happened. Pretend she felt nothing when what she felt was everything, and that everything was a crushing blow to who she was trying to be now.

He pushed her away gently and Carol tipped forward, bracing herself on her hands and felt the tears of frustration well in her eyes. She fought them, her body shaking with repressed lust, but just as a sob started rushing from her throat, Daryl squatted in front of her, his clumsy bandaged hand chucking her under the chin until she was looking up at him, tears welling in big, clear eyes, her bottom lip tremulous with the effort to draw everything back inside.

"Not now 'cause I ain't doin' this unless I can touch you. Wait till the bandages come off?" He looked so hopeful, so determined, so desirous that Carol only had one reply. Her answer was a kiss, a decisive dive for his lips. At first he didn't move and without opening her eyes she knew he'd be staring at her in shock, but then he relaxed against her a little, his arms going around her again and Carol's hands found his hair, fingers digging through the surprisingly soft strands as she plundered his mouth. Everything was heat, red hot scorching heat from his lips to his wet tongue and Carol wondered if she'd slipped into Heaven by mistake. Once he was past the initial surprise, Daryl sucked at her lips, his tongue sliding sensually from one to the other before curling up with hers, gently volleying back and forth. She grew weak with surprise and happiness, exploring at their own pace, nibbling in between intermittent bouts of passion until finally Daryl pulled away. His breathing was ragged and Carol was mesmerised by the way his heart seemed to be pumping in time to his breaths, her hand settling over his heart. She drew closer as the steady beats engaged with her palm, leaving her tingling all over. The sensation felt strange, unpredictable even though she knew without looking at him that he wouldn't pull away now, that he was caught in her spell as much as she was in his—and they'd both been drawn in by the blatant display of erotica of their friend and his new girlfriend.

"I don't think I'll be able to look Glenn in the face again." She giggled. Thinking about the raunchy couple and the noises Maggie had made as Glenn sunk himself inside her re-stoked the dying embers of Carol's desire. She looked up, caught Daryl watching her, his expression unguarded and vulnerable and she trembled with how much responsibility she now held in her hands. How easy it would be to hurt him, shame him, destroy his tenuous link to the group. It was the last thing she wanted, so she smiled at him with as much reassurance as she could muster and when he grinned shyly back, her heart fluttered in her chest.

"Now you know why I moved away," Daryl said, pushing up from his knees to stand, waiting on her to follow. "Know enough personal shit about those assholes to last me a life time."

Her previous worries pushed back at her and she frowned. "Did you know guns get Shane hot?"

Daryl snorted a laugh, heading off toward the berry patch, Carol scrambling after him to keep up.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: For now, this one is coming to an end. There is a slight chance I might add to it later, but I have far too many WIP's to add this one to the list, so I hope this feels complete for you all. I would love to hear what you think, and I thank you now for all your never ending support. I am sincerely grateful that anyone reads my work and those that review and let me know what you think are brave souls indeed!

Part Four

Hershel told Daryl to keep his hands wrapped for a week. It was the longest week of his damn life. He'd expended more energy marching around his tent and back and forth to the woods than he'd ever done in his life, all because he couldn't do a damn thing he wanted to. With his hands all bandaged up as tight as a mummy's ass, Daryl was basically confined to his camp. It was fucking hard to do any amount of shit when his fingers were held hostage to a soft, pudgy roll of cloth. He was so close to tearing it all off and saying to hell with it, but just as he was always about to, Carol would appear as if by magic messenger with fresh clothes, or hot food, and the pleasure of her feeding him by hand was too great to surrender just yet.

The days blurred with so little to do. He was mostly alone, either pacing around his camp with the image of Maggie and Glenn fucking each other burned into his brain, or lying in his tent, eyes closed, reimagining the scene but with his own and Carol's faces to take the weirdness out of it. His head was all over the shop about what had happened, his body still tormenting him with sense memory it was refusing to let him forget, and Daryl growled in frustration. Curling his fists, he punched the ground with about as much ferocity capable of a teddy bear, then whimpered as he remembered the vivid memory of how it felt to have her lips dancing over his. He was so screwed, every single part of his body craving her now like a rash desperate for salve.

With near a week to kill, he had some groundwork to lay, he decided. He'd been avoiding Carol and he could see she was starting to suspect he was pulling away—and while the urge was there, his flesh was weak, in more ways than one. He didn't like the haunted way she was watching him when she screwed up her courage enough to make the trip across the field to bring him things, but on the fourth day when he grumped about moodily, she seemed to shrink away from him even further. He couldn't blame her—he'd been in a shitty mood ever since they returned with the berries, left with super padding and an aching dick he couldn't even touch.

On the fourth night, she didn't come. Instead, Glenn jogged up, carrying a plate with his dinner on it and a flask of water.

"Hey," he greeted, stumbling to a stop at Daryl's less than welcoming glare. "Um, Carol asked me to bring this up. She's busy with Lori doing something." The young man shrugged, grinning nervously as if he suddenly realised he'd been placed as interference for the couple and he wasn't going to like it.

He attempted to pass the plate to Daryl but realised the futility of that when Daryl thrust his puffed up hands in Glenn's face, grumbling all the while about stupid fucking people thinking he needed to be babied and were just screwing with his head when he'd be just fine without all the layers of bandages they'd wound around his hands.

Glenn put the plate by Daryl's fire and slowly backed away, belatedly realising he was treating Daryl like a scary animal but not so sure he was completely in the wrong there.

"Hey, how you think I'm gonna be eatin' that? Ain't got no hands, jackass." The growling irritation in his voice had Glenn jumping comically in the air, seizing the plate back up and jabbing at the meat with the provided fork. He held it out to Daryl and the tremors in his hand was barely visible, but Daryl noticed and smirked as he consumed the first mouthful. "Chicken?" he mused as he chewed the food, and thought it might be the best tasting thing he'd ever eaten.

"Yeah, Carol cooked it. Hershel's got a few he can spare now he's not feeding the walkers in the barn." Glenn's face rippled, like he'd been about to laugh but then remembered the tragedy of that day they'd learned the truth of Sophia and let it slide away.

They sat in silence as Daryl ate, the fire crackling before them, its orange light keeping the moment from being completely dull, and while Glenn automatically kept refilling the fork and did the trip from plate to Daryl's mouth, the hunter steamed about the indignity of it. Having to be fed like a baby because his inaction had driven Carol away. Had driven that woman as far away as she could get. He needed to do something to reassure her he hadn't forgotten—that he hadn't wimped out. That he wasn't running like the little pussy bitch Merle had always thought he was. He was going to stand on his own two feet and act like a real man, he just had another day or two to live through first.

"You do me a favour?" He squinted in the fire's half-light, side-eyeing Glenn to see his response, then continued at his hesitant nod. "You ask Carol somethin' for me?"

"Sure thing." The food was gone, Glenn was displaying itchy feet ready to travel back to the group, or to a secret rendezvous that Daryl didn't want to know about, and yet the urge to do something that might shock Carol, might establish a burning tinge to her own cheeks for a change was strong.

"Can you ask Carol which she prefers? Inside…or out." He shook on the inside, wondering if Glenn would get it, work out what he was referring to and start making fun of him but to his relief the confusion was strong, Glenn's brows deeply furrowed.

"Um, sure. I'll let you know her answer in the morning."

Daryl nodded, then ignored Glenn completely as he turned a contemplative gaze onto the fire. Glenn stood awkwardly for a second, about to open his mouth to ask for clarification about the message when Daryl turned on him, barking out, "You got lead in your pants or somethin', boy? Get on with ya." And Glenn ran.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Carol was almost done with washing the dishes when Glenn skidding to a stop and handed her Daryl's plate.

"How'd it go?" she asked, curious at how Daryl would handle being fed by someone that wasn't her and feeling a little guilty for putting him in that position in the first place. She knew he'd be embarrassed that someone would have to feed him but her concern for him had paled into comparison with the embarrassment she kept feeling at how thoroughly exposed she felt toward him.

"Peachy." Glenn grinned, eyeing her in that deep, contemplative way that made Glenn's subjects chuckle at how inept he was at being subtle about it. "He wanted me to ask you something."

Carol arched a brow, somehow surprised that Daryl had mentioned her at all with how much he'd been avoiding her since their tryst in the woods. Intrigued and a little excited, Carol drew her hands from the water and dried them on the tea towel and waited. "What did Daryl want you to ask me?"

"I have no idea what this means, but he wanted to know: Which do you prefer? Inside or out?" Glenn waited there expectantly while Carol's face exploded with the brightest colour she thought she had in her repertoire.

Naughty, sexy images of Glenn and Maggie flitted in fractured segments through her mind and Carol had to drop her shocked eyes to the ground, her breath coming at her so quickly she felt like she might pass out. Damn Daryl. Was he trying to humiliate her, or did he really want to know? The only way to find out for sure would be to march her way up to his tent and demand he tell her what game he was playing, only just thinking that and Carol knew that Daryl didn't play games. Daryl was as straight as a person got, and so the burning of her face seemed to be a standard that the rest of her body was in a race to reach as her blood became fire in her veins.

"I…I think…inside." She gave the answer then spun away, darting off to the RV and shutting the door, blocking out any attempt of Glenn's to get clarification on the true meaning behind the question. There was no way she could keep her composure during even the smallest interrogation and so here she stood, locked inside the RV with her limbs quivering with instant lust and the remembered reality of how much she'd already experienced with Daryl.

Inside. She'd told him inside, like a coward, like a repressed suburban housewife, and then she panicked because Daryl was a man at home in the woods. He was a hunter, his hands and body showed the truth of a rugged man more at home in the open then he was behind closed doors. What if her answer disappointed him? What if it turned him off after what they'd seen? After the act they'd witnessed stirred a longing for each other in their blood.

Convinced she'd blown it, Carol went to bed and shivered with repressed lust.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The next morning was grey. Clouds were gathering together fast and Carol quickly gathered up some breakfast for Daryl, threw an apology at Lori for indulging Daryl's avoidance of the group once again, and started a quick walk up to his tent.

An ability to shrug off her worries was the only thing that fuelled her steps this morning. Carol refused to let herself get down if she'd revealed herself as the prude she truly knew she was. If she'd never been able to stomach the thought of outdoor sex with her own husband during a time in the world's history where they hadn't had to worry about being snacked on by walkers, then she certainly wasn't about to change now when caution was even more imperative. Besides, she didn't relish the thought of bark burn on her back, or being stung in interesting places by bees or other insects. She didn't need anything kinky to make her blood pressure rise—apparently all she needed was the ever-present sign of Daryl's fire and the man himself.

He was outside his tent and straight away she could tell he'd showered. His hair was wet, despite the sky still remaining dry, his clothes changed and his hands were bare. He stared across the expanse of the field at her, just quietly waiting. Not jogging out to meet her, taking his food and sparing her the extra part of the trip. He stood patiently, periodically staring at the ground then peering bashfully back up at her through his bangs. His shy act tugged at her heart and it thudded faster in excited recognition that something was afoot.

When she was closer, she noticed that he was standing oddly, one arm thrust up behind his back and when she was within arm's reach he whipped it back around, brandishing a bursting bouquet of Cherokee roses.

All her questions died in her throat. The answers were now in her hands, one or two tiny thorns digging into her fingers but she didn't even care—barely even felt it.

"You stayin'?" His attempt at romance was truly something, Carol swaying giddily at the thought. If he was this matter-of-fact about something so totally unexpected, she was almost wild with wondering how the rest might go.

"I brought you breakfast," she replied unnecessarily, smirking at how awkward this meeting seemed.

The waft of rapidly cooling scrambled eggs drifted to his nose and Daryl seized the plate, shovelling the food down in record time before he tossed the metal plate across to the fire. He faced her again when he'd finished, his arms crossed and hands tucked under them, rocking slowly as he contemplated her, all shyness evaporating so fast it left Carol's head spinning. He resembled a caged cat, ready to pounce but waiting to see if the supplied meat was exactly in the right place to be caught. She felt light-headed, electrified with the punch of a simmering lust that whipped up out of control without even the benefit of the first touch.

"You stayin'?" he repeated, but this time he sounded less sure of himself. Carol nodded, fairly sure her throat had closed up and words wouldn't be possible. She wasn't even sure she could hear anything else as building desire buzzed through her veins.

Thunder cracked in the sky with a sudden boom that made her jump and left her shaking, and in that instant Daryl hooked his hand around her waist and jerked her hard toward him, her body slamming up against his with a suddenness that knocked her breath from her lungs.

His mouth was on hers a second before the rain started, but before she could squeal and pull away, Daryl had her inside the tent, his lips not pulling away for even a second. His eyes reflected the wild storm gathering outside and Carol didn't even care if his tent could survive the howling winds that had whipped up out of nowhere. All she knew was that Daryl's mouth was warm, wet and tasted like scrambled eggs, and she wanted more of it.

The quiet inside the tent was reassuring, allowing her to focus entirely on the kiss. Teasing licks and bites on her lips drove her wild, and Carol dived enthusiastically into relearning how all of this worked. She had no recollection how it was done, but she straddled his pelvis, hard, thick heat scorching suggestion between her legs. She couldn't keep her hands from him, frantically unbuttoning his shirt and drawing the edges back so she could revel in his skin. Pulling back from the kiss more than a little breathless, Carol didn't even care about refilling her lungs before she ducked her head and tasted his flesh. Her fingertips traced the name over his heart while her tongue and teeth played with his nipple, the heat drawing up inside her until her need almost became painful. His hand in her hair drew her up and back to his mouth and the passion exploded between them in synch with the flood of flashing light in the tent and the scorch of distant burning earth filling the air. The frenzy of nature matched theirs, clothes going flying as they climbed toward one goal, fulfilling each other.

On quivering knees, Carol was suspended over his erection, hands splayed across his chest. His lips were swollen, his eyes dark and dirty and his active hands finding and teasing every part of her he could reach. His gaze slipped down her body, focusing on the perfect teardrops of her pert breasts, his thumbs reverently stroking across the already protruding buds and then they both sucked in a laboured breath.

"You're stayin'," he breathed out in awe, like he hardly believed it, and Carol cupped her hand around one of his as he formed the shape of her breast and squeezed gently. A heavy ball of warmth swirled low in her belly, lower dripping into her core until she just couldn't stand the pain of wanting to feel him inside her.

"I'm not going anywhere, Daryl." It was a breathless commitment as he helped her lower herself onto him, her body finding him slowly and then expanding and swallowing him whole. His length surged into her deliberately, without hurry, without any motivation at all but to drive them both crazy. She slid up, feeling the pressure drag, release, then sucked him in again. The pleasure was exquisite, and she released its knowledge with a sob. He pinched her nipples and tugged on them right as she swirled her hips and lifted, falling again with the patience of the saint she certainly wasn't, and gave into the repetitive whimpering pitched from her without consultation of approval. His grunts spurred her on: swivel, lift, descend.

She trembled harder when Daryl ran his nails up her sides, tracing her curves, squeezing her hips to pull her into him harder, firmer, his own upward thrusts becoming more energetic the longer she drew this out. The burning in her womb built up gradually, adding on each level of intensity until she didn't know anymore where she ended and he began, but as her limbs grew weak, all her strength being drawn to support the orgasm that was so close, she became lost in his eyes, finding in them a simple truth she'd never known before. Not with anyone. His eyes promised her that while everything might not always be all right, they would be. This thing, growing in strength and importance between them was now set in stone and if nothing else, Carol could have confidence in that. She could have belief in him.

They came together, his hips jerking up into her without warning, splashing her walls with his semen as Carol crested equally emotional and physical waves of release. Sweat clung to their skin and she felt electrified, her body tingling everywhere, felt more of anything than she had her entire life. He was panting, still staring at her with wonder in his eyes, and Carol took his hand and held it against her lips, kissing his recovering wounds while she tried to tell him how she felt with nothing more than a look and the touch of her mouth.

She smiled, knowing he understood. "I'm not going anywhere."


End file.
